I can do great things for small periods of time. Breaking my treatments up into two separate treatment regimens has given me some hope, and a more reasonable goal.
Yesterday was my 3rd of four total AC treatments. I can say I am official 3/4 of the way done; 75% through; only one more to go! The AC's are the hardest by far - on my body, on my brain, on my very soul. I will deal with the remaining six Taxol treatments when the time comes (a fellow BC sister likened Taxol to "a vacation in Aruba" after AC treatments. I could really use a vacation about now).
For some reason, yesterday's treatment was hell. Not the treatment itself; that was routine and mundane and uneventful. But going to treatment brought out the waterworks again; I cried on the way there, I cried when I got there, I cried throughout the treatment, I cried when I was done. Even the Ativan they so lovingly give me early on didn't help calm my nerves.
I think, during the first two treatments, there was still an air of the unknown, which doesn't mean excitement per se, but rather a morbid curiosity about what's happening. The second treatment my sister was with me, taking pictures and chatting animatedly about all that was going on around. It wasn't quite a party, but if we'd had the hats and crepe paper we could have rocked that little corner of the infusion room.
Yesterday felt different. Half of the nursing staff and one of the NPs were out with the flu - I immediately started worrying about the germies floating around. My side effects this round were much more significant than the first - so how will I do after yet another treatment? My medical staff didn't seem concerned about the occular migraines I've been having, but is concerned I'm having a flare of my ulceritive colitis, which could delay treatment while they work to bring that under control. I've learned that yes, it is quite possible to be simultaneously constipated and have diarrhea. And for the first time yet, I had several bouts of nausea, albeit mild.
As always, the exhaustion is what brings me down first, and I'm certain that didn't help my emotions of yesterday. Maybe it was a mistake to bring along my policy textbook to help pass this time. For the first time, I couldn't open my eyes at all while the nurse infused the Adriamycin - I just couldn't watch it being injected into my IV. That red syringe feels like death, sometimes, and I am so tired of seeing it.
I fully intended to sleep yesterday; instead, in an effort to punish myself, I spent the afternoon doing taxes (with no toy surprises at the end of the rainbow, either, damn you Uncle Sam). I finally fell asleep early, to awaken at my now-usual 4:30 am.
But in the back of my muddle and tired brain, I can rejoice in the fact that there is only one more AC treatment left to go. I will drag myself through the next 9 days so that, on Day 10, I will rise and smile and be happy again. Until then, watch out for cranky, cuz I just sense that's how this next week or so is going to go.
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